


Youngsters

by gemnosha



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman - Fandom, Batman Vs. Superman - Fandom, DC Cinematic Universe, DC Comics, DCU, Superman - All Media Types, Superman - Fandom
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Magic, SuperBat, age-reversion, deageing justice league, idk - Freeform, married!Superbat, theyre cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 08:04:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11665011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemnosha/pseuds/gemnosha
Summary: Based on a fic I read about Zatanna's enchanted something rather turning into lemonade that caused the batfamily to de-age.It's a cute, smutty dribble.





	Youngsters

The alarm glinted against the sunset’s red lights, splitting a single ray into a million specs of fine lasers. The master bedroom has never looked so brightly lit before, Clark observed. He made a mental check and his heart raced with the pleasantries of house duties at the Manor. He thought to himself: that very moment was probably the first time Bruce’s bedroom curtains were opened. He supposed that when marrying Batman darkness becomes a familiarity. The farm boy wrinkled his nose, his faux glasses becoming blinded by the horizon’s bright disarray. He breathed it in. It was a long day at the Daily Planet, and a long day where Metropolis was saved from all but Superman. His achievements highlighted into one short, underwhelming summary would consist of the words _too many superheroes in this world, now_ in that precise order. Somewhere in Clark’s chest he felt his powers stiffen and sizzle, the sun’s affects minimizing until it plateaued on a fine line between Superman to man with powers. When he breathed out the moonlit sky gleamed through the window, captured in the reflection of his glasses.

For a moment, he imagined his father beside him with his fingers pressed up into the personal space of the stars, marking out the constellations and explaining to Clark about the giant in the sky that held the sword. He heard his father’s voice in his head as he said, “Follow that nebula to the approximate north, you'll find our barn right there, son. When you can see that bright star you know you're not lost. That's what the stars are made for.”

The dark-haired, slender figure sauntered from where he had been frozen for the past seven minutes, finally removing his glasses and destroying the kaleidoscope of colors that were reflected onto them. He placed them onto Bruce’s side table and mapped his fingers back around to his shirt’s top button. His fingers lathered the thing in anticipation, hesitating slightly. He could super-speed himself into the master bed right now, but he knew that if he stayed there for just a while longer Bruce would make his way in and help him settle down instead. Clark wouldn't admit it freely but something about the idea of Bruce’s stern fingers helping undress him invited a feeling of comfort and relaxation. So, he stayed still. His fingers traced circles and rectangles into his shirt, framing the shape of his buttons as he listened to the Batcave entrance swooshing and clicking into place; Batman had left the building and Bruce Wayne was home.

The footsteps were hollow in the empty house, Clark could almost hear them without his powers. However what he couldn't hear was the sound of Alfred’s voice. “Zatanna had left a message of concern earlier, however I'm afraid she hadn't detailed her grief. She said to call her in the morning.” The dark haired boy winced, he could sense there was a genesis of conflict being birthed behind their backs. He chose to put it aside for now.

The door creaked open, the floor swept by the noise friction until Bruce was framed against the negative space of the doorway, his silhouette gleaming promisingly. He carried a smirk on his rugged face, watching Clark’s finger still tracing his top button. On cue, it came loose and Clark felt his breath being weighed down inside him until it hit his stomach with a loud pop.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Wayne,” Bruce purred smugly, strutting into the room while his reddened, sore lips twitched into something of a smile. The man in blue recognized the blood that teased his husband’s mouth.

“Bruce,” Clark said, a sudden panicked cloud spreading over his facade of grace, “your lips.”

“Don't worry about it,” He deadpanned. Those injured lips faltered from remaining nothing but a smirk for a tiny millisecond before they touched the side of Clark’s jaw. Bruce’s hands palmed Superman’s hips, massaging into the bulk of muscle along the sides of the man’s torso and towing him into the shape of Bruce’s chest. His lips trailed down to Superman’s chin, sucking on the small stubble that was threatening to grow and leaving small bites in the shape of his surname. Bruce extracted his lips to watch as Clark’s jaw and chin turned purple and black like the sky’s dark clouds and then healed themselves a few seconds later. Secretly, Bruce hated Clark’s healing capabilities, for it made it difficult to brand Metropolis’ favorite hero. And as much as Bruce would deny his efforts he desperately yearned for the world to know that Clark was his husband _and_ his bitch.

Bruce’s eyes glistened in the dark of the master bedroom, but Clark could see him perfectly: his husband was branded with libido, his blood red lips agape and struck with spit. “Stop drooling and help me get undressed, I'm exhausted,” Clark whispered, leaning into Bruce’s physique more and ghosting his husband’s flushed cheeks with a hint of a peck. He didn't want to disappoint Bruce but sex was not happening tonight.

“Come on,” The billionaire insisted, his fingers stretching to match up to the size of Clark’s thighs (and failing — no one can beat those thighs, Bruce).

“You come on.”

Bruce gave up easily, he knew from the look in Clark’s eyes there wasn't an inch of room for debate that would alter Clark’s mind. He escaped from his clutch on Superman's thighs, binding them onto his husband’s fingers where they circled the rest of Clark’s buttons. He thought about ripping the shirt from its seams, relieving both him and Superman's from the restraints of domestic undressing and getting into bed immediately, but Clark looked so fragile in starlight. Bruce didn't want to offer a lingering moment of stress to his husband, so he took his time. Moment by moment, button by button, Bruce undressed Clark while his husband watched over him, a small simper on his lips.

The taller man’s fingers came to the hem of Clark’s briefs, inching underneath the fabric (Bruce swallowed down his lust harshly), and relieved Clark of those too. The man in blue wouldn't tell him but he was incredibly grateful for this moment, they way his husband took care of him, respected him, undressed and bathed him in tiny kisses along the way without forcing him into anymore restless endeavors. He breathed in. The cold air dressed his now naked body carefully. Bruce placed a small tender peck on the inside of Clark’s thigh, biting carefully onto the soft skin before he returned to Clark’s lips. A careful kiss ensued. Clark breathed out.

“Let's go to bed,” Bruce mumbled, he masked his lust with false sleepiness for Clark’s benefit and neither of them spoke about the large bulge that waved like a flag in Bruce’s pant as he crawled into bed, Superman following his lead. They lay together, entangled and content until sleep intoxicated both of them.

Peace.

Throughout the night Clark isn't disturbed by anything, not even the way Bruce’s hips jerk against his back from whatever corrupted his dreams. He doesn't wake up when Bruce pressed too hard against his shoulders with his forehead or when a flash of leg nearly strangles his neck. (Bruce doesn't know how to cuddle. Bruce doesn't know how to sleep still. Clark could sleep through a nuclear explosion. Clark could sleep through a magical spell that wrapped his limbs up in enchanted, mercury foil, and rewrote every gene in his body. Clark goes from 38 to 18 in a matter of seconds, and he doesn't bat an eye. Bruce, however, is mortified and very, very, very handsome at the age of twenty-something.)

Chaos.

Clark’s eyes sparkled when the sun stirred against his irises, changing the colors into whatever made Bruce stare into them so deeply. Superman felt surprisingly puny in the bed at that moment as he curled into a ball. His eyes were wide open but he wasn't paying much attention to note how peculiar Bruce looked. He was entirely absentminded.

“Clark,” Bruce offered, and he watched as Clark’s body sparked and sizzled, eyes shooting open(Bruce sounded entirely different.)

“What the fuck!” Super — Super _boy_ jumped from the bed, hauling his body into the wall beside the window. He had more power than he expected. He landed on his feet, shaking in his huddled posture, listening to the cement break away from the Manor. “Ow, fuck’n hell!” Clark screeched, the blood dripping from his elbows. (Bruce noticed that his superhealing was slow. He thought about the love bites).

“Clark, it's me.”

“Wha– ha–” Clark scowled, his own voice higher than he felt comfortable with. He hurried to the mirror that hung by Bruce’s cupboard. “Whoa, Whoa, ha– nggh. Bruce. Bruce. Bruce. Bruce.” His fingers etched his cheekbones like he was made of metal, admiring the way his skin felt and appeared. “Bruce, nghh. How?”

“Zatanna.”

“No,” Clark sighed, a sharp pain struck over his chest.

“Yes, the entire team.”

“No,” Clark repeated.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No!”

  
“You're very hot when you're flustered,” Batman said nonchalantly.

Clark’s eyes bulged, he glared back at Bruce mightily, “Bruce.” His husband smirked back at him, his young eyes glowing with want (Bruce was always turned on by Clark Kent).

  
Clark had to admit though, if he had thought Bruce Wayne was the hottest man in the world at the age of forty, he was definitely the hottest man in the universe at twenty-something. “Now is not the time.”

“Isn't it?”

“I–” Clark’s cheeks reddened. He was entirely naked and Bruce was as well, so mathematically (he convinced himself) right now was the perfect time. His eyes grew large, stimulated, memorizing the curves of Bruce’s body. He licked his lips, observing the way that Bruce’s pectorals spasmed in the cool air and how hard his nipples were.

“C’m here,” The taller boy gestured, lounging down against his bed, feeling small against the size of the blankets, and pillows. He patted his lap with his right hand as if to tell Clark that he had saved the boy a seat.

It was strange, Bruce was always larger than Clark in every way, shape and form. The taller boy’s muscles were bulky and huge next to Clark’s, his hands were like gloves that Clark could wear and his chest was like Clark’s personal home. Despite the powers that Superman harnessed, Batman could do enough to Clark to drive him crazy and weak.

The farm boy collapsed onto his knees and hands onto the edge of the bed, crawling over Bruce’s legs to where his cock, pink and poised over his stomach, lay leaking. “Someone's very excited,” Clark commented, grinning. Bruce’s eyes flashed with an impatient flare, and he reacted. He pulled Clark over him by his shoulders, gripping onto his thighs the moment he could and pressed him into the air over his chin. “Whoah.”

Clark spread his legs for Bruce while the taller boy straddled his legs across his face, his smile ghosting over Clark’s ass. Super _boy_ gripped the headboard, biting in a gasp when Bruce’s lips pierced the warm skin between his cheeks and sent out a lightning fast lick onto the sensitive, pink trace of heaven. He hauled Clark onto his biceps, holding onto him firmly and using his hands to stretch out Clark’s ass, kissing tenderly at his entrance. Somewhere Superman heard him murmur, “I love this,” and then his hole was between Bruce’s teeth, being played with, stretched and bitten. Bruce kissed it when he was done, and every time he bit down it fell out of his teeth with a wet smack. He buried his nose into Clark's ass, licking over the gaping hole before pressing his swollen tongue into the warmth.

“F-fff-fuck,” Clark murmured under his breath with a chain message filled with words Bruce has never heard him say before in his life. The taller boy invited himself further, pulling his fingers aside to plunge them in beside his tongue, digging, digging, digging into Clark. Bruce’s other hand traveled from the other cheek to the small of Clark’s back, pressing into him while his tongue searched for gold. Superman arched into touch, rolling down onto Bruce’s tongue, yearning for more.

The taller boy lifted from his slouched posture, still thrusting his tongue into Clark but carrying the smaller boy forward onto the bed and pressing his legs into the sky. He lifted his face from Clark’s hole, licking his lips as the spit dripped, and Clark almost swallowed his own tongue. Bruce looked so hungry, so pleased, so aroused. He fell over Clark’s legs, reaching his lips through the the resistance and stealing a long passionate kiss. He licked the inside of Clark’s mouth, and the smaller boy moaned into it, into all of it. His cock was rock hard against his stomach and throbbing violently, his hole was aching and warm from the love bites that grew and refused to heal. He felt Bruce’s dick press against his thigh, the precum wiping against his pale legs and it was so, so, so fucking warm.

“I,” Bruce started, peeling from Clark’s lips, “I don't know about you but I want to fuck you all day.”

“We can't stay like this,” Clark breathed. Bruce found his cock and let it float teasingly at the entrance of Clark’s hole, feeling the heat that fell from it. “We need to, nghh, fix whatever the fuck is happening.”

“No, Clark, my babydoll, for once in our lives we don't,” Bruce hummed, slowly pressing into Clark and sucking onto the smaller boy’s lips before he could speak. “My only job is fucking you until your superhealing doesn't even know where to start.”

“I fucking love you.”

"That's right, love." 

**Author's Note:**

> Bruce Wayne is one horny man.


End file.
